


Burn it All Down (to Build it Better)

by drunknpylades



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Revolution, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunknpylades/pseuds/drunknpylades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one has seen a real dragon in hundreds of years. They hide among us, taking human form to blend in and live their lives without fear of persecution. Enjolras has been able to hear their voices in his head since he was very young, but his father has taught him to tune them out, afraid of what his son's "gift" might be used for. He is ten years old when one voice in particular becomes too loud to shut out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kindling

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Les Mis fic, so be nice but feel free to comment if anyone seems too OOC.
> 
>  
> 
> No beta on this so all mistakes are my own. If there's anyone that wants to beta, just send me a message and maybe we can work something out.

On the morning of his tenth birthday, Enjolras’ voice was no longer alone inside his own head.

_Is there anyone there?_

Enjolras sat up in bed faster than he had in his entire, albeit short, life.

“Who’s there?”

There was no reply.

The blankets were pulled up to his chin with the childlike belief that they would keep him safe should the voice turn out to be malevolent.

“Who’s there?” He asked again.

_Can you hear me?_

Enjolras pulled his knees up to his chest, hands over his ears.

“Go away. You’re not real. Father says the voices are never real.”

_You’re hearing voices besides mine? That’s not how this is supposed to work._

“I don’t care!” Enjolras was getting upset. It was his birthday, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to go downstairs and have breakfast with his mama and father. Father would give him the ‘you’re a year older now’ speech, and mama would have strawberry pancakes waiting. He was not supposed to be hearing voices.

Something warm started to tingle at the back of his mind, something fuzzy and smelling like his mama’s special perfume. It wrapped around him, like his mama did when she hugged him every morning.

_Sorry. This is probably weird for you. I just haven’t had anyone to talk to in so long. You’re the first outside voice I’ve heard in years._

Enjolras looked around the room, crossing his legs and slowly lowering the blanket into his lap.

“Where are you?” Always the analytical mind, Enjolras wanted to know more. Father had always taught him that asking questions was the best way to go about things, but never act like you don’t know what you’re talking about.

_What? No questions about who I am, or what I am?_

The voice sounded amused. Enjolras just fidgeted with the blanket, biting the inside of his cheek.

“I-I know what you are.”

_Oh? And what’s that, little one?_

“Dragon.”

Electricity zipped over the back of Enjolras’ head, something feeling almost like surprise jumping down his spine.

_I thought you humans stopped believing in dragons._

There was a note of derision in that statement, but Enjolras didn’t much care. He hadn’t heard a dragon in a long time, and the last time he’d said something about it to his father, the man had been very adamant that Enjolras never speak about it again. Even teaching him to tune the voices out.

This voice was just very loud.

“Well, kinda hard not to believe in you when I can hear you in my head.”

_True._

“Why can I hear you? Why not before?”

_I guess I just wasn’t talking loud enough. And I was talking very loud, so I’m glad you finally heard me._

Enjolras lay back in bed, curling around his pillow. The voice sounded amused again and it made that familiar warmth curl around him, making him feel safe and wanted. Like stepping out into the sun and feeling the heat down to your bones.

“Do you have-?”

A knock on his door startled Enjolras and he sat up again, eyes trained on the door.

“Enjolras? Honey, are you still asleep?” Oh, good. It was mama. she was always more fun in the morning than father. “How can you still be asleep at this time on your birthday?” The door started to creak open.

Enjolras smiled, throwing his blankets to the side and swinging his legs out of bed, the voice all but forgotten in favor of throwing himself into his mama’s arms as she came in the room. She picked him up under the arms, twirling him around once before holding him to her chest and kissing him on the top of his head.

“Happy birthday, mon petit soleil.”

That warmth that had been wrapped around him started to pull away, slipping off the back of his mind like water off a duck. Enjolras did the only thing that seemed right to his now ten year old mind. He reached out and grabbed, pulling it back to him.

That feeling of surprise zinged through him again and Enjolras grinned, burying his face in his mama’s neck.

“Are there pancakes?”

He was put back on the floor and mama ran a hand through his hair.

“Honey, there will always be pancakes on your birthday.” She smiled that smile, brushing her own blonder hair over her shoulder as she stood up straight again. To Enjolras she was most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Now get dressed. Your father wants to see you before he leaves for work. You know he’ll be gone for a few weeks this time.”

And with that she was gone again, closing the door behind her.

Enjolras listened to her feet on the stairs as she went back down, making sure she was far enough away before speaking out loud.

“You still here?”

_I’m always here, little one. For as long as you’ll have me._

“Good.” He nodded to himself before moving around the room, changing out of his pajamas and heading for the bathroom. His toothbrush was halfway to his mouth before the thought hit him. “Can you see me?”

A chuckle reverberated around his head, making his teeth rattle in mouth.

_I am a voice in your head, little sun. No, I can’t see you._

Enjolras rolled his eyes and continued cleaning his teeth. It had been a stupid question anyway.

The voice was quiet while Enjolras went through the rest of his morning routine. He skipped his way down the stairs, composing himself at the bottom so he could enter the kitchen like a well composed young man.

Father was already at the table.

The electric shock of surprise was becoming almost familiar as it made its way down his spine, straightening his posture as he took his place at the table. The dragon’s presence seemed to curl in on itself into a corner of Enjolras’ mind.

He reached for it, trying to wrap that little ball of something up in warmth like the dragon had done to him earlier.

The little ball pulsed and unfurled a bit but stayed in the shadows.

Mama smiled at him from the stove, turning and setting a plate of his favorite strawberry birthday pancakes in front of him.

“Very nice of you to join us, Enjolras. How does it feel to be ten?”

“You coddle him, Maria.” His father’s voice was a sigh, like this was an argument they’d had many times in the past.

“And you don’t coddle him at all.” She picked up the empty plate in front of her husband, patting him on the cheek as she went. “It’s his birthday, James. Let him have his day.”

Enjolras looked up from his breakfast and Maria winked at him.

“Enjolras, you know I’m going to be away on business for a few weeks. I need you to help your mother around the house.” His father had interlaced his fingers on the tabletop, making sure to make eye contact with his young son. “You’re another year older, and I expect you to live up to expectations I have for you now.”

This was the only part of his birthday that Enjolras hadn’t been looking forward to. His father always gave him a speech about how he had new responsibilities, new expectations, now that he was older. Sometimes he wished his father would just smile and give him a hug like mama did, but he couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d seen the man smile.

Warmth spread through his bones again and Enjolras had to suppress the urge to smile. From his limited experience he figured that this was the dragon’s way of giving comfort; of giving a hug.

Thank you, he whispered, being sure to think it in his head and just hope that the dragon would hear him.

The presence in his mind twitched, not answering, but the warmth grew a bit hotter so he took that as a reply in and of itself.

-

“Please?”

_No. I’ve already told you I won’t, so stop pestering me. You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it anyway._

Enjolras huffed, flopping back in the grass. He was alone in the park a few blocks down from his home, taking time away from his mama to talk to the dragon. He could always speak mentally, but he much preferred to actually speak. Something about sitting in silence while having a conversation seemed too weird to him.

_You are having a conversation with an ancient dragon in your own mind and you think that speaking mentally is strange? You are a very unique creature, little sun._

“I have a name, you know. And since you know mine, it’s really only fair that you tell me yours. I can’t just keep calling you Dragon.”

_You know what I am, and you know the power our names hold over us. Make something up if it bothers you that much._

Now that was a thought.

The dragon had been very generous with his nicknames in the last two weeks they’d known each other, maybe it was time Enjolras returned the favor.

“Rumble?”

The honeyed feeling that meant the dragons was laughing at him poured over his mind and Enjolras grinned, turning onto his stomach in the grass.

_A fine name! All shall tremble in fear of the mighty Rumble!_

Enjolras laughed too, fiddling with a blade of grass between his thumb and forefinger. “It was the first thing I thought of. It’s what it feels like in my head when you talk.”

 _Am I too loud for your human ears, little sun?_ The dragon’s voice had dropped to a whisper, or as close as a dragon could get to whispering.

“It’s not that. You’re just- you’re sort of everywhere at once.”

Silence reigned in his head, but Enjolras could still feel the steady thrum at the base of his skull that told him the dragon was still present. There were times when he went away, but it wasn’t very often.

Now that he thought about it, the dragon’s absences were actually very regular. Every Monday and Friday at noon. What could the creature be doing? Where was he even hiding? Enjolras knew that he would have heard about it if someone had found a dragon somewhere.

They’d been gone for centuries. Real dragons had been, anyway.

Everyone knew that dragons could assume human forms, but there weren’t any methods to tell who was a dragon and who wasn’t. Not unless the dragon wanted you to know. The last true dragon had fought in the war over two hundred years ago. It was a rumor that the man on the throne now, King Gerard Holland, was actually a dragon, but there was no proof of that. Every time he brought it up, his father would give him a look before effectively shifting the topic to something based more in reality than fairytales.

“Can I call you R?”

The dragon seemed to come to attention.

Enjolras got the distinct image of a large dragon head turning to face him with intent, glowing eyes.

_R?_

“Well, you don’t like Rumble, so I could just call you R for short. Like a, uh, like a compromise.” Father used that word a lot. Usually when telling him to never do it, but Enjolras felt like this could be an exception.

 _R…_ The dragon chuckled and the warmth that smelled like his mother and felt like the sun wrapped around him. _I think I can live with that._

-

“Hey, R?”

_What is it, little sun?_

R sounded tired, and for a moment Enjolras felt guilty that maybe the dragon had been sleeping. But he wasn’t going to back down this time. It had been months now since he’d turned ten. Three months since he’d first heard the dragon’s voice in his head.

In those months, R had been getting quieter and quieter, not mentally prodding him as often as he had in the beginning. To Enjolras’ ten year old mind it seemed like something was very wrong, but every time he tried to bring it up R would pull away and retreat to his dark corner in Enjolras’ mind. Never completely leaving, but going far enough away that his feelings on the matter were clear.

“Will I ever get to see you?”

R recoiled immediately, just like Enjolras had thought he might, so he took action.

Mentally grabbing at the swirling presence that was R, Enjolras tugged with all his might.

Heat flared behind his eyelids and he got a glimpse of stone walls before darkness enveloped him and the heat became too much. He whimpered under his breath, curling into a ball under his blankets with his hands pressed to face. Stars and patterns burst behind his eyelids as he rubbed vigorously to try and make the burning itch go away.

_I’m sorry! That wasn’t supposed to happen. Are you alright? I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

“What happened?” The heat had frightened him for a moment, but now that it was passing, Enjolras just wanted to know more. “It looked like I was underground, but I’m still in my room.”

R hesitated.

It felt like molasses in Enjolras’ mind, and he decided he didn’t like it. It felt like R was trying to decide whether or not to lie to him.

_You saw through my eyes for a moment. Something you should not be able to do, by the way._

“So you’re underground? Why would you be underground when you can just disguise yourself?”

_It is not by choice, little sun. Believe me._

Possibilities ran through Enjolras’ mind, each idea more elaborate than the last in his child’s brain. One thing was common in each scenario.

“Did you get captured?”

Everything shut down.

That was the only way Enjolras could describe it.

R’s presence curled so far away from him that he almost couldn’t feel it. There was a hole in his head and in his chest where the dragon should be and it made him ache.

“R? R, did somebody get you?”

There was no reply. Just more of that cold loneliness.

“I’ll come find you, ok? I’ll come get you out from wherever they put you and you can come live with me.” Enjolras rolled over in bed, thoughts going a mile a minute with escape plans and daring feats of bravery. “You’ll have to put on your disguise, though. I don’t think a dragon would fit in the house.”

The attempt at humor had its desired effect when R uncurled a bit. The dragon still didn’t reply, or acknowledge Enjolras’ ideas in any way, but it was a start.

“I’ll save you. I promise.”

Enjolras went to sleep, satisfied with his plan.

-

The following weekends were spent at the library, taking advantage of all the knowledge in one place. The librarian had stopped giving Enjolras odd looks as he wandered around the shelves of books, carrying armfuls of reading materials back to a table in the back where he could read in peace.

That peace was unfortunately interrupted about two weeks later.

“Enjolras?”

The voice startled him. Enjolras hadn’t been expecting to hear someone outside his own head, and R retreated as he usually did when someone else was around. It was appreciated, because sometimes it was hard to focus on the presence in his head as well as on the person in front of him.

“Combeferre? What are you doing here?”

Combeferre was a boy in Enjolras’ class. They’d worked together on projects and such before, and Enjolras liked him well enough.

The other boy pushed at his glasses, resettling them on his face.

“I’ve finished all the books at home. I needed something else to read, and I, uh, I saw you back here.”

They’d talked some outside of school, but this was the first time Combeferre had approached him on his own.

Enjolras didn’t have many friends, a side effect of his father continuously telling him that he didn’t friends to be successful in life, and it seemed like this was a new experience for Combeferre as well.

R nudged at him and Enjolras let himself smile.

“Wanna sit here?”

Combeferre grinned at him and took a seat, reaching out for one of the books at Enjolras’ elbow.

Enjolras turned back to the book in his own hands, not sure if he should start a conversation or not, so he fell back to what he was doing before the other boy had arrived. If Combeferre wanted to talk, he would talk.

The only sounds were the turning of pages and Combeferre’s shoes scuffing along the floor as he kicked them back and forth.

_You should talk to him, little sun. You need more people your own species to talk to._

‘I have you. You talk enough for ten friends.’

R’s chuckle rumbled in his head and Enjolras raised a hand to cover his smile.

_That’s not the same thing. And I talk exactly the right amount, more than you do in any case. Just give him a chance. He seems nice._

Enjolras peaked at the boy across from him, noticing the focus Combeferre had for whatever it was he was reading. It was a quality Enjolras could appreciate, even at ten years old.

‘Like you’d know. You can’t even see him.’

Molasses dripped down Enjolras’ spine and he almost didn’t want to hear whatever it was R was about to say. That hesitance was something he’d come to hate whenever he asked R questions. It usually meant that R didn’t want to talk about whatever it was Enjolras had mentioned, or the dragon really wanted to lie.

_Actually, I may have misled you a bit when I said that I couldn’t see you._

Enjolras froze. The book in his hands dropped flat on the table and Combeferre’s head jerked up to look up him.

Enjolras didn’t notice. All his attention was focused inwards, zeroing in on the warm ball of energy that had started to curl away from him.

‘You lied?’

Something like shame filled Enjolras’ lungs, tasting like ash in mouth.

_I didn’t lie. Not really. I said I couldn’t see you, and that’s true. You can’t see yourself unless you look in a mirror, but I can see through your eyes when I choose to. Like you saw through mine that night in your room._

Enjolras took a deep, steadying breath, eyes closed and a hand fidgeting with the hair at his temple.

‘That’s not… You could have said something earlier! That would make finding you a lot easier if you could just tell me where to go. You could guide me.’

_It’s not going to happen, little sun. I’ve already told you that it’s too dangerous for you to be where I am._

‘And that’s why I’m going to find you. You don’t have to be in danger anymore.’

R sighed heavily, the sound of his breath like a gust of wind in Enjolras’ head _._

_Enjolras…_

It was one of the few times the dragon ever used his real name, instead of the nickname. Usually Enjolras would back down whenever R used his name, but this was too important.

“-olras.”

“Enjolras!”

Enjolras blinked his eyes open and looked across the table at where Combeferre was giving him a strange look.

“I said your name like five times and you never answered. Are you- are you ok?”

Taking a moment to internally glare at R, Enjolras made sure to tell the dragon that they would talk later before he smiled at Combeferre.

“I’m ok. Maybe a little tired. I’ve been here for a long time.”

Combeferre didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded anyway, looking pointedly at the books scattered across the table.

“Did you read all of these already?”

Enjolras nodded, fidgeting with the binding of the book closest to him; _Dragons of Old: A Collected History of Dragons Through the Years._

“So you like dragons?” Combeferre asked.

Something seemed to light up in the other boy’s eyes and Enjolras found that the smile that spread across his face was entirely genuine.

Maybe Combeferre would make a good friend after all.

-

His mama’s hair started to fall out.

Enjolras knew she had been sick, but she’d always been sick so it didn’t seem strange to him when she’d been in bed for a few days. Father was gone often, saying that he was helping to get mama better every time Enjolras asked. To his child’s mind he couldn’t understand how the man was helping when he was always gone.

Mama had always been a strong woman, doing everything she could to make everything seem normal while she was sick, even when she was bedridden.

Now was one of those times.

Enjolras was standing outside her and father’s bedroom door, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and debating on whether or not he should go in.

Father was gone again, not saying when he would be back this time, but promising that he was very close to finding a way to fix mama. He promised.

R was a comforting warmth wrapped around him, trying to nudge Enjolras in the direction of the door.

_She’s not going to be upset with you, you know. She’d probably like the company, since all she’s seen in the last two days has been your father’s face. I’d be wishing for a bit of sunshine right about now too._

A smile spread across Enjolras face and he giggled under his breath. “Quit that.” He whispered. “You can’t make me laugh around other people. Combeferre still thinks I’m weird after last time.”

The rumble of R’s chuckle rolled through him.

_He’s going to think you’re strange even if I didn’t make you laugh in the library. You are a strange boy._

“Am not.”

_You’re the one whispering to a dragon outside your mother’s bedroom, contemplating whether or not you’re going to go inside. You are strange. And you should go in._

Enjolras still hesitated.

When his mother was sick she always looked so tired, and father had told him not to bother her unless it was important. She needed her rest.

There was also the tiny part of him that didn’t want to see her when she was so far from the woman he still wanted her to be.

Enjolras wanted her to get up, to come out and play with him; to chase him around the house, to lift him up and twirl him around like she’d done the morning of his last birthday.

She hadn’t picked him up like that since.

“I can’t. She needs to-”

“Enjolras, petit soleil, could you stop talking to yourself and come in here?”

Enjolras bit his lip and R gave him a mental ‘I told you so’. He hadn’t realized he’d been talking loud enough for her to hear him. She was a mother though, and Combeferre said that mothers heard everything.

With steely determination only the young seem to possess, Enjolras pressed forward into the room, the doorknob cool under his sweaty palm.

His mama lay in bed, hair loose around her shoulders where she was sitting up against the headboard, propped up by pillows. Her face was pale and her beautiful hair shimmering less and less each day. Enjolras ran a nervous hand through his own hair, so much like hers that it made something ache in the his chest.

Closing the book she had been holding, Maria set it on the bedside table before patting the space beside her. “Well, come on then.”

Enjolras was across the room in seconds, jumping onto the bed and crawling over to situate himself against her side, curling under the arm she had lifted.

“There. Isn’t that better? I was wondering how long you were going to stand out there. I’ve been terribly lonely, listening to you talk to your little friend instead of me.”

Something in Enjolras jerked at her words, and her felt the thick syrupy feeling of hesitance from R. Neither of them knew where she was going with that observation, but so far Enjolras had never had to try and explain away his mumbling to anyone. He’d been hoping no one would notice.

Especially mama.

Enjolras was incapable of lying to her.

“I wasn’t talking to anyone, mama. It’s just you and me in the house.” Enjolras buried his face in her side, hoping that if he didn’t look at her she wouldn’t be able to see the truth on his face.

A gentle hand carded through his hair and his mama cooed at him. “Oh, Enjolras. You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not going to tell you to hide it like your father did. I think it’s a gift; what you can do. Don’t ever be afraid to tell me things.” She sighed, something long and exhausted. “I never should have let him wall you up the first time.”

Enjolras moved back, still under her arm but now able to look up at her with inquisitive eyes. “You know? Father said I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, that it was all in my head, that they weren’t real.”

Maria rubbed a hand over his back, a small smile drifting across her face.

“Honey I know everything.” She winked. “I’ve always known what you could do. Your father just convinced me that it was better for you to try and be as much like the other children as possible. There are people out there that would be afraid of what you can do, afraid of what it means.” Here she stopped for breath, as if simply speaking was exhausting her. “You know how long the dragons have been gone. They hide among us, yet no one has heard from them in so many years. Your ability to speak with them is something that many might be afraid of. Or there are those that might want it for themselves. You have to be careful.”

R was a restless presence in Enjolras mind, the little green patch of mist that Enjolras had come to associate with the dragon was almost pacing back and forth across his mind. He reached out, brushing himself over it and hoping it was enough to calm the dragon down. Mama wasn’t going to hurt them.

When he opened his eyes (he didn’t remember closing them) Mama was looking down at him with a look in her eyes that Enjolras couldn’t place. “Were you talking to it?”

Enjolras wiggled around, not sure how to describe what it was he’d been doing. He wasn’t actually sure of it himself.

“He’s scared.” Enjolras ignored the indignant ‘ _Am not!’_ “He doesn’t want me to get in trouble.”

Maria nodded sagely, her smile widening. “That’s good. I’m glad he cares enough to try and keep you out of trouble. You get into it enough all on your own.” She poked him in the stomach, just under his ribs and Enjolras giggled, pushing at her hand. “And does this protector have a name?”

The hesitance was back, and this time Enjolras felt it himself. He remembered how important a dragon’s name was, and even if the name he’d given R wasn’t his real one, it still seemed special somehow.

_Go ahead._

‘You sure?’

_I’ve always liked your mother, and it seems like she’s on your side. It’s up to you, little sun._

The use of the nickname that was his mother’s favorite warmed him to his bones and Enjolras decided it would be ok.

“I call him R. He says that I wouldn’t be able to pronounce his real name, and a dragon’s name is very special.”

“They are indeed.” Maria agreed. “Their names give the people that know them power over the dragon. You can tell them what to do, give them orders that they have no choice but to follow. If you know a dragon’s name, it’s because they trust you with their lives.”

Enjolras thought of R, probably trapped somewhere by people that were keeping him underground, and his heart grew heavy. He wished the dragon would tell him where he was, or at least help Enjolras find him. It felt like a part of himself would never be whole until the dragon was free.

As if sensing his somber thoughts, R hummed in his head, the resulting rumble shaking his teeth.

_Don’t think so hard. You’re going to give me a headache._

Enjolras leaned into his mama again and curled up in R’s presence, not bothering to reply.

Unfortunately, he remembered why he’d wanted to see his mother in first place. He hated breaking the comfortable quiet they’d fallen into, but it was something he needed to know.

“Mama?”

Maria opened her eyes from where she’s tilted her head back against the headboard. “Yes, petit?”

“How is father going to make you better?”

Sadness washed over Maria’s face and she simply dragged him closer, pulling Enjolras up onto her lap and holding him close. “He’s trying his best, Enjolras, but you can’t blame him if he doesn’t. Your father is doing what he can, but the kind of sickness I have isn’t something that can get better just by taking medicine.”

There was a jolt of something Enjolras hadn’t felt before and he looked internally, trying to puzzle out what R was feeling. There was nothing obvious to help him guess at what the dragon was feeling, only the smell of rain, like how the world smells right before a storm.

‘R?’

No answer.

Enjolras reached for the little green orb, hurt when it pulled away from him.

He reached again, ignoring the comforting sound of his mama’s voice.

R pulled away again, his presence pulsing with red as the dragon spoke.

_I’m not leaving you._

The warmth disappeared.

Everything disappeared.

There was no comforting buzz at the base of his skull, no warmth in his head, no rumbling in his teeth.

Nothing.

Some of his distress must have caught his mama’s notice because she stopped talking.

There were hands on his shoulders.

“Enjolras? Honey, what’s wrong?”

Enjolras shook his head vigorously, grabbing at her dressing gown and fisting the material in his small hands. A choked sound escaped him and he buried his face in her chest.

There was no calming presence that smelled like honey to comfort him, no witty retorts to try and make him laugh.

There was no R.

-

Maria died two months later.

He didn’t cry.

R never came back.

Enjolras was at the table, pushing his dinner around his plate when his father spoke. They were the first words the man had said to him since the service almost three days before.

“Enjolras, would you like to come to work with me tonight?”

He nodded dumbly, not really caring much about what his father wanted him to do. All he knew was the his mama was gone, and the only person that could have helped him deal with it had left him. If his father was suddenly trying to get closer to him, who was he to argue?

The drive was unspectacular, with Enjolras staring out the window for most of it. He had a hard time focusing on anything now, not seeing the point. There was so much grief bottle up inside him and he had no idea what to do with it.

His father was emotionally unavailable, his friends didn’t understand. No one understood.

Only R and his mama had ever really understood him, and they were both gone.

He was alone.

“We’re here, Enjolras. Keep close to me.”

Enjolras dutifully followed his father into the large building. It wasn’t tall so much as it was long; a sprawling fortress of rooms and sliding glass doors and chrome.

They came to an elevator at the end of one hall and his father pressed his palm to a pad beside the doors. Enjolras was intrigued, even if he wished he wasn’t. Being interested meant paying attention, meant feeling something, and he still didn’t want to feel much of anything.

Hands grabbed his shoulders and his father dropped to one knee in front of him, an earnest look on his face.

“Enjolras, I know you miss your mother. I know how much it hurts to have her gone, like a hole you’ll never be able to fill in your heart. I know how you feel because I feel it too.” He put one hand on Enjolras’ chest, over his heart. “I know this is probably too soon, that some will say I’m too cruel for doing this to you now, but you have to know.”

Ice started to flow through Enjolras’ veins at the first mention of his mama, and as his father spoke that icy feeling only spread.

There was a light in his father’s eyes that made a hole open up in the pit of Enjolras’ stomach and he wanted to run. He wanted the elevator doors to open so he could get away. He didn’t want to hear anymore.

There was a spark.

Enjolras’ head jerked up from where he’d been studying his shoes.

His father smiled.

“I know you can feel it, Enjolras. It’s alright now.”

The spark grew into a tiny green flame.

“I’ve told you so many times that the voices weren’t real, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t want to deal with it then. But’s all going to be ok now. You’re going to help me.”

The flame grew into an inferno.

“I have the beast that killed your mother.”

The elevator doors opened into darkness and Enjolras clutched at his father’s sleeve as he was assaulted with the smell of wet stone, like mildew and moss and mud.

Overhead lights flared into being and Enjolras was burning.

Blue eyes like the center of a flame pinned him in place and he was burning burning burning.

-

**13 years later**

Enjolras had always had an obsession with dragons, ever since they’d been children.

Combeferre could understand the interest, the need to know more. He was a scholar, and knowledge was something he held in very high regard.

Enjolras was like a dog with a bone.

If he wasn’t slowly amassing the world’s largest collection of draconic literature, then he was campaigning for a change in the hierarchy.

There was one name in particular that Enjolras seemed to be quite keen on.

General  Jean Lamarque.

The man was one of maybe three or four dragons in the whole of the world that had come into the light in recent years.

Lamarque spoke for the people, for dragons. He wanted a world where the two could live in peace once again; a world where dragons could finally show themselves without causing panic in the streets and uproar everywhere else.

Enjolras was one of his loudest supporters.

So vocal of his support in fact, that Enjolras had formed a group of young men that went about town singing the general’s praises and trying to garner more followers to the cause.

Of course, they did more than that, but if you were to ask the general public, that was the general consensus of what it was the Amis actually did.

They were seen as juvenile, as to not be taken seriously.

Enjolras wanted to change that, and Combeferre could only follow behind him and try to keep the collateral damage to a minimum.

-

It was the assumption of the others that Combeferre had been the first to join Enjolras in his cause, and they were right.

A lesser known fact was that Feuilly and Bahorel had been a close second.

Feuilly had come, literally, out of nowhere. The young man had simply appeared at the door of the small apartment Enjolras and Combeferre shared, hands folded behind him as he gave them both an appraising glance over the threshold.

Enjolras had been gearing up to dismiss the stranger when Feuilly spoke.

“You’ll do.”

With that the redhead had shouldered his way into the room, dragging someone else in behind him. Someone in baggy clothes with a hood pulled up over their head that Enjolras and Combeferre had failed to notice.

As soon as the door was closed Feuilly had pulled his companion’s hood down and Combeferre would swear to this day that Enjolras had started to drool.

Combeferre would also reluctantly agree that it had been a sight to behold.

Bahorel’s eyes were golden, split down the middle like a cat. His skin was the color of copper and he was covered in small, intricate scales. The dragon’s ears were slightly pointed and there were two small horns jutting up over his temples, almost hidden beneath the shock of dark hair.

“We’d like to join you.”

And that had been that.

Feuilly and Bahorel had been enfolded into the small group as if they belonged. And it was always Feuilly and Bahorel, because they were a package deal. The two were very rarely apart, and even Enjolras had finally caught on to the fact that they were inseparable.

Even if someone did miss the obvious (as Enjolras had for nearly a year) it was hard to miss the way Feuilly would absent mindedly raise a hand to his collarbone, fingering the burn scar there that perfectly matched the shape of Bahorel’s lips. Dragonfire was a mark worn by those that a dragon had claimed as their own. Their B’sheirt.

After they’d taken a real dragon into their midst (it was hard to miss Bahorel in a crowd, stuck as he was between transformations from an accident that neither he nor Feuilly would talk about)their cause became a bit more legitimate, and the others fell into place as if they belonged there.

Courfeyrac had been badgered into joining when he refused to stop asking questions about their rallies and just what it was they were doing. The fact that he had also moved in with them when his own family kicked him out made it harder to leave the other man out of their plans.

Joly attended a few rallies and had been there to walk Enjolras home after their leader had been knocked out during a protest gone wrong. The medical student had pronounced that Enjolras was suffering from a concussion and just never left. Bossuet and Musichetta had come later, offering up Musichetta’s own place of work as a place to hold their meetings.

The Musain had been their’s ever since.

Jehan had come in one night while the group was making plans for another protest at Parliament. Combeferre remembered the young man looking so fragile as he’d slunk in, long hair pulled back away from his face while too large clothes hung from the small frame. He’d all but fell into a chair near the back, settling his head on his crossed arms on the tabletop.

Combeferre had looked around to see if any of the other’s noticed.

Bahorel seemed to have zeroed in on the new presence and the dragon had nudged Feuilly with his elbow.

The redhead nodded slightly and had settled a hand on Bahorel’s shoulder.

As Combeferre eyes continued to scan the room, it was Courfeyrac’s reaction that surprised him.

The usually outspoken man had carefully moved from his seat across from Enjolras and silently made his way towards their new arrival. He touched his fingertips to a bony shoulder and Jehan had jerked back, wide lavender eyes falling on Courfeyrac’s face.

The two had exchanged soft words, (words that Courfeyrac, to this day, would not divulge) and the next moment Jehan had leaned forward, forehead hitting Courfeyrac’s stomach as his whole body seemed to sag in relief.

It had been months since then, and Jehan had seemed to flourish under Courfeyrac’s care. So much so that the poet had moved in with them as well when Enjolras discovered that he was on the run from the authorities after being suspected of harboring a dragon in the neighboring country.

Enjolras was a bit of a sucker for the political refugees.

Marius had literally tripped into the café on a rainy day, soaking wet and looking so pitiful that no one could turn him away when he asked if he could join them.

They were a family. Outcasts and rebels that no one wanted to deal with.

Fortunately for them, they had found each other and made a home for themselves amongst like-minded people.

They were about to get one more.


	2. smoke through your fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some Grantaire POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but I wanted to get it out before tomorrow because things are about to get hectic for my weekend.
> 
> Still no beta, so all mistakes are mine. Feel free to point them out.

The door to the Musain opened and his vision blurred.

The image of a smiling boy superimposed itself over the dour young man in the door and everything in him froze.

Grantaire was off his stool and running (he wasn’t afraid to admit it) through the employee door to the back. He wove through the kitchen, pushing a disgruntled cook out of the way as he burst through the rear entrance and into the fresh air of the alleyway.

Blood rushed through Grantaire’s veins, his heart beating like a jackhammer in his chest as he crouched down, head in his hands.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t ready.

Grantaire had known that Enjolras was still around; could still feel him like fire in his veins.

He just hadn’t expected to see him again so soon.

It had been thirteen years, but to his kind, it was such a small span of time that the years had seemed to fly by.

No, that was a lie.

The moments he had been separated from his little sun had been torturously slow.

Unfortunately, Grantaire didn’t have the courage to reestablish their bond after it had been severed all those years ago.

It had been Enjolras’ father that had done it; reached in where he had no right to be, grabbing the thin strands that held them tethered together and pulled until something snapped.

Thank god Enjolras had already passed out before the whole ordeal happened.

Grantaire could still feel it, could still feel the man’s presence if he thought hard enough, could still feel the pain of the moment Enjolras had ceased to exist in his mind.

The experience didn’t seem to have had any lasting effects on the boy, and for that Grantaire was grateful.

Enjolras was something he had been reaching for ever since that day, and while he had finally started to feel the young man again, it was obvious that the occurrence wasn’t mutual.

Grantaire had poked and prodded at their ruined bond with no response from the one at the other end. He had given up hope years ago and just counted himself lucky that at least he knew Enjolras was still alive and well.

There were plenty of dragons that had it much worse.

The sudden presence of a hand on his shoulder jerked Grantaire out of his thoughts and he fell back against the wall, head jerking up to meet concerned green eyes.

“Feuilly.”

The red head smiled, crouching down in front of him. “Grantaire. Care to share what that was all about? You gave ‘Chetta quite the scare.” He nodded over his shoulder and Grantaire followed the motion.

Musichetta was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips and a worried look on her face.

His face grew hot and he tried to laugh it away. “Sorry, Musichetta. You know how I get when I’ve had a few too many.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“Grantaire, you know I’ve been here since we opened this morning, and you’ve only been here an hour. There is no way you’ve had enough to be anywhere close to freaking me out yet.” She gave him a look, one that said ‘you seriously expect me to believe that? Don’t you dare lie to me’. “What happened?”

Feuilly’s hand tightened on his shoulder and Grantaire looked back at the man. “He’s here.”

Feuilly sighed, eyes darting to the side. “I know.”

“You know?” There was a sinking feeling in his gut that he was trying very hard to ignore. “What do you mean, you know?”

Musichetta was looking decidedly hesitant and Feuilly still wasn’t meeting his eyes.

Grantaire’s next words had the bite of his dragon’s voice to them, shaking his teeth as he spoke. “What do you mean?”

To his credit, Feuilly looked back at Grantaire, meeting his eyes and pulling away to stand up straight before he answered. “Bahorel and I have been talking to him and his group of Amis. We’re-” His confidence wavered a bit. “We’re helping them with their next rally. Bahorel’s going to go with them, show the people that dragons are still here and still willing to fight for peace.”

A chuckle bubbled up Grantaire’s throat and he tipped his head back against the brick wall.

“Can you hear yourself right now? Fight for peace?” He laughed, an ugly sound even to his own ears. “You humans are all the same. Always fighting for something.”

“At least we’re still fighting.” Musichetta’s voice had an edge to it that Grantaire was not used to hearing. Her default setting with him had always been calm and helpfully kicking him into the right state of mind. He liked that about her. “At least we’re not giving up and drinking our troubles away while those we care about are trying to make this stupid little world better.” She spun on her heel, skirt twirling around her as she stomped back inside.

Silence reigned in the alley and Grantaire heard Feuilly sigh somewhere above him.

“Look, I’m sorry we kept it from you, but Bahorel said it would be better to let you decide things on your own. He knew that if you figured out we were meeting with Enjolras, it might make you do something stupid.” He smiled.

Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Bahorel should know by now, that if I’m going to do something stupid, I’m going to do it whether he tries to manipulate me out of it or not.”

“Which is why I’m apologizing.” Feuilly held out a hand and Grantaire allowed himself to be pulled up. “Are you going to be ok?”

There was the tickle of pepper in his nose; something he learned meant frustration from Enjolras. Grantaire smiled, wrapping an arm around Feuilly’s shoulders as he steered them back towards the door.

“Probably not.”

He was about to do something stupid.

-

Enjolras looked up at the commotion near the employee door to the kitchen.

Musichetta had dragged Feuilly out not too long ago, and he’d really only noticed because Bahorel had stopped mid conversation to watch them.

The rest of the Musain had been cleared out for their little gathering. Enjolras didn’t want anyone knowing about the ace up his sleeve (or dragon, as the case may be) just yet. Bahorel was their shock and awe. He was their trump card for this next rally and Enjolras wanted all the impact he could get.

Feuilly was under the arm of another man, dark hair in wild curls around his face.

Bahorel looked up as the two made their way closer, Musichetta watching with a raised eyebrow from her place behind the bar.

“Do you know him?” Enjolras asked, taking his eyes off the newcomers to watch the dragon for any kind of tell. Not that Bahorel really had any, but it gave Enjolras something else to look at besides the new man draped over Feuilly.

Bahorel didn’t look away from his lover. “We do. He was actually the one we were staying with before we came here to join up with this little outfit.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes and looked back at the man, trying to fit him with the new information.

Blue eyes were looking back at him and the rest of the room seemed to go silent. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his mouth going dry as those eyes seemed to look through to the deepest part of him.

A connection long forgotten sparked to life and Enjolras’ body ran hot, his blood bubbling under his skin.

“Enjolras.”

And just as soon as it had come, the searing heat was gone.

Bahorel’s clawed hand was on his shoulder and Feuilly was standing across the table from them, a worried frown on his face.

The dark haired man was nowhere to be seen.

-

That was twice in one day.

Twice he’d run away from the one thing he was supposed to be running to.

Everything was so twisted up in his head. One minute he’s wanted nothing more than to get away from Enjolras, then he just wanted to look at him, and then everything was on fire.

Ok, he would admit that maybe going back into the Musain had probably been a bad idea.

Feuilly physically shoving him out the door had proved that.

He’d just been so everywhere. Every part of him had wanted him to act a certain way, so in the end he had simply shut everything down and went with the first thing that came to mind.

It had been the wrong course of action, but Grantaire really wasn’t one for doing the things society expected.

“You are in big trouble, mister.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Musichetta called and informed me about just what went on at the Musain today. Care to share?”

It wasn’t good.

Eponine was sitting on the steps that led up to the small house they’d bought several years ago.

She didn’t look happy.

“Listen, Ep, I can explain.” Grantaire topped at the base of the stairs, hands held up in surrender. It was a tactic that probably wouldn’t work, but it made him feel better to try.

Eponine’s eyes sparked golden and she breathed out heavily, keeping what Grantaire knew was a mouthful of smoke down. They were out in the open. It wouldn’t do to have some unsuspecting neighbor catch an eyeful of fire breathing young people.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for Grantaire depending on how you looked at it, Eponine stood up and grabbed his sleeve, dragging Grantaire into the house and away from anyone that could be watching.

As soon as the door closed behind them Eponine poked him hard in the chest. Her eyes were golden again in a blink, smoke curling out of the corners of her mouth.

Very not good.

“What were you thinking?” Grantaire opened his mouth but Eponine ploughed on as if she didn’t care about his excuses.

She probably didn’t.

“Wait, don’t tell me. I know what you were thinking. Nothing! You never think when he’s involved. Your little sun that ran out on you and left you alone in the dark.” She scoffed, moving around him and into the kitchen. “I know he’s your B'sheirt, but I hate seeing you mope around looking like you’ve lost your fire.”

Grantaire leaned in the open doorway to the kitchen, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “He didn’t run out on me, Eponine, and you know that.”

She just didn’t understand.

It wasn’t Enjolras’ fault his father was bad at being a father.

It wasn't Enjolras’ fault that Grantaire had killed his mother. No matter how much of an accident it had been, it had still been because of him that she’d died.

If he were Enjolras, he wouldn’t want to talk to him either. So he’d stayed away, never trying to reestablish their bond to what it had been. It was better that way.

“Oh, R. Come here.”

Grantaire flinched away from that name.

He knew why Eponine was using it now, but it still brought back memories he didn’t particularly want to relive.

There were arms around his middle, pushing him back through the doorway and into the living room. Grantaire let himself be maneuvered until he fell back on the couch. Eponine arranged him so that his head was in her lap and clawed fingers were running through his hair.

“You know I yell because I care, right?”

Grantaire chuckled, turning to bury his face in her thigh. “I know.”

“Good.”

The claws against his scalp were soothing while the thrum in his head matched the beating in his chest.

Something warm brushed against his mind and Grantaire curled around it, dragging that warmth down into sleep with him.

-

Miles away, in his apartment, Enjolras smiled and fell into the first peaceful, dreamless sleep he’d had in a long time.


End file.
